2 Blinded Affection
by piccolina789
Summary: Second in the series of post-ep stories. Spoilers for all of CSI season two, starting with "Burked". GSR.
1. Blessed

**A/N: **Starting with a bit of Catherine for season two =) I hope you will all continue to enjoy these stories as much as the others! I have to admit, I'm feeling the pressure! Hope I don't let you down.

Spoilers for episode 2x1, Burked.

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><p>Sam said it wasn't in the cards.<p>

And the certainty in his tone made me believe it.

Yet… I couldn't help but _imagine _what my life would be like if the deck had been stacked a different way.

I'd be a Braun. Probably with more money than I knew what to do with. My mother would be taken care of. Lindsey would probably go to a better school. I'd have the time and resources to give her everything she wanted. I probably wouldn't have to work. Not if I didn't want to.

My life could have been a whole lot different.

But then…

I wouldn't be a CSI. I would have never gotten the push to explore the challenging field in college, and would have never started crashing down barriers in what was still considered a male-dominated field. I'd never have met Grissom. Or Jim, or Warrick or Nick.

Yes, my life would have been a _whole _lot different.

And call me crazy, but I prefer the life I have.

After Sam and I had dinner on the strip, I met with Nick for a before-shift drink. He was still scratching away on the chigger bites he'd gotten from the crime scene, and bent down several times, head disappearing underneath the bar, to itch at them.

"I thought you got ointment for those things," I teased.

"Yeah, well, it's not working very well," he said, emerging once again.

"What did Grissom recommend?"

"Nail polish, of all things," Nick said with disbelief.

"Did you try it? He is the bug expert."

Nick paused.

"No."

"Well, lucky for you, Nicky, I've been trying to keep a manicure from chipping," I laughed, pulling a clear bottle of polish from my purse.

They must have _really _itched from how fast Nick snatched the bottle from my hand and began painting his bites right then and there at the bar. When he was satisfied, he leaned back and took the first few sips of his drink.

"So how are you doing with the whole Braun case?" he asked. "I know you're a friend of the family."

"All right, I guess," I said honestly, sighing. "I've known Sam my whole life. It… sucks… that he has to go through this."

"Losing two sons at once," Nick agreed. "How exactly do you know them?"

"Sam and my mother had a _thing_," I said, emphasizing the last word as Nick raised his eyebrows. "Don't get too excited, it's ancient history. Like, I wasn't-even-a-year-old ancient."

"Well," Nick said seriously. "I'm sorry."

I covered my hands with his.

"Thanks, Nicky," I said sincerely.

"So did you hear this garbage about Warrick's evaluation being on a roller coaster?" he said, switching to a lighter topic.

"Say what?"

"Yeah, he just told me," he said. "Ridiculous. If Grissom gave Warrick all outstandings just because he rode some ride with him, and Sara got all outstandings because, well, she's Sara… I'm gonna be so pissed…"

"Nicky, I'm sure you did just fine on your eval."

"I did," he admitted. "But _still_…"

He went on for several more minutes and I half-listened, but with a big grin on my face.

Yes, if you'd ask me, I'd say the cards stacked themselves just right.


	2. Tease for You

**A/N: **Spoilers for episode 2x4, Bully for You. **  
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><p>"Hey, Sara."<p>

I chased down a brunette that was a lot, well, pleasing to the nose, than the one I worked with yesterday. It had taken me an entire bag full of lemons to wash the scent of Mr. Carson from my body, but I would bet Sara had used at least two. After all, she had a date.

"I don't want to hear it, Nick," she called back without looking behind her.

"Aw, come on," I said, jogging to catch up with her. "Please?"

We both stopped and looked at each other. I folded my hands under my chin and pulled my lip down in a frown.

"Pretty, pretty please?" I begged as a few lab rats passed us with strange looks on their faces.

Sara crossed her arms in front of her chest and stared me down, unyielding.

"You smell very nice today," I threw in.

Sara cracked her serious façade and gave me just a teeny, tiny smile.

"What do you want to know?" she asked.

"Where'd you go?" I jumped in. "What do you think of him? Did you talk about work the whole time? Are you going on a second date? Is—"

"Whoah, slow down, cowboy," Sara interrupted, holding her hand out to stop me. "Before I tell you a _thing_, I need your word."

"My word on what?"

"No teasing," Sara said. "Not even one little crack, or I never tell you anything about my social life ever again."

"Cross my heart and hope to die," I promised, crisscrossing in front of my heart for good measure. "So…"

"We went to brunch," Sara started as we resumed our walk down the lab hall. "I think he's kind, good at his job and… cute. We did _not_ talk about work – not at all, in fact – although he did mention how impressed he was that I could handle Mr. Carson's stench. And the second date is tomorrow morning."

With that, she left me behind and waltzed into the break room. I stood at the entrance to the door, mouth slightly agape. I had a million comebacks that sprung to mind, but in keeping my promise to her, I swallowed them before I could blurt them out.

Teasing Sara had become my new favorite shift activity. We had fallen into a comfortable friendship right from the start, but now that Sara had several months in Vegas under her belt, I felt the civil nature that I had upheld when she was the new girl was no longer necessary. And besides, teasing her was too easy. What with nearly every male in the lab tripping over themselves and forgetting they were owners of master's degrees in her presence, an opportunity presented itself pretty much every shift. Dave, Greg and now Hank? I had a lifetime supply of ammo. Sara pretended it irritated her, but I knew she liked the easy, joking demeanor between us as much as I did.

And really, when you're the girl Greg Sanders can't stop talking about… can you really expect _not _to be teased?

I followed Sara into the break room and took the seat beside Warrick for our shift assignments. Grissom was out of the room in a flash – mumbling something about blowfly eggs – but the rest of us lingered. Sara and I had been paired for a case, as had Warrick and Catherine, but we hung back to sip our cups of steaming coffee before we took off. Sara seemed pleased that I had kept my mouth shut thus far, and even passed me the cream when I asked her to.

"Hey, why don't we all grab breakfast after shift?" Catherine suggested. "We can trade war stories. My treat."

"I'm in," Warrick said.

"Me too," I added. "But Sara can't."

Her head shot up, sending me a venomous warning through her eyes.

I couldn't help myself.

"She's got a hot _second_ date with a hot paramedic."

Warrick and Catherine's eyes widened, and Sara's narrowed until they were just slits above her nose. She was shaking her head. The other two cleared out, knowing better than to pry, and Sara lunged for me.

"You… promised…" she said in a strangled cry as she punched me again and again in the shoulder.

"I couldn't… help… myself," I gasped through laughter and her punches.

She took one last swipe and then shoved me out of her way.

"You are _so _dead," she muttered as she left.

And I believed it. I'd incurred the wrath of Sara Sidle. It would probably be a long shift.

But it was _so_ worth it.


	3. You're not fooling me, cause I can see

**A/N**: So the tough thing about this arrangement is that there's oftentimes more than just one episode per day that I want to write about. Sometimes it's all four, but I just don't have the time to do all of them, as much as I want to. But I did want to highlight this episode and this moment, so I decided to go ahead and post, even though it's a day late.

And also, Rosalyn Marie asked if I was going to do one for this episode, and she's awesome. So there's that ;)

But I will be doing a story for one of today's (Tuesday's) episodes later, so keep an eye out for that!

Spoilers for episode 2x5, Scuba Doobie-Doo.

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><p>It surprised me.<p>

I did it without thinking, acted without forethought, and before I knew it, my hand was touching his cheek in the first deliberately physical contact we'd had in a very long time. It was as if my fingers were electrified, from the look on his face. He didn't jump back, made no bodily sign of being uncomfortable or alarmed by the touch, but under his deep façade, he was startled.

He stared at me as if the contact between my fingers and his cheek was the most intimate touch humanly possible. Something he never expected.

It made me withdraw my fingers.

"Chalk," I offered offhandedly. "From plaster."

I don't really remember much of the rest of the conversation, or, to be honest, much of the rest of the case. I knew he found the body, knew the apartment manager was arrested, but all I found myself thinking about was that touch – the feeling of his skin under mine, how wonderful it felt, and, above all, how _I _had instigated it.

I hoped I didn't cross a line. I had this… sort-of-kinda thing going on with someone from work, but we were nothing serious. Not yet. And if I were to sit myself down for an honest-to-God talking-to, I would have to admit that I cared for Grissom more than I probably should. I would drop any sort-of-kinda-almost relationship for an opportunity for something, _anything_, with Grissom.

By the end of the night, I decided that I was glad I did it. It could have been painfully awkward, but somehow, it wasn't. That told me that somewhere within him, Grissom felt something too. Felt the natural simplicity in my skin making contact with his.

If only everything else in our relationship was as effortless.

One touch wouldn't solve things. But it did make one thing starkly clear.

I cared about him.

No matter what.

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><p>It shocked me.<p>

Heart pounding, pulse racing, adrenaline flowing, trying to calm myself down, the very last thing I expected was for Sara to reach out and put a delicate, comforting hand on my face. And yet, she did. And it was.

Delicate and comforting, I mean.

I must have looked surprised, because she withdrew immediately. I almost wished she didn't. The moment her fingers reached my cheek, I felt an inexplicable calm spread through me, like the sun calming the waves of a thrashing storm.

Her presence oftentimes acted as an enigmatic sort of tranquility for me. As if just being around her made me step back, slow down, and breathe. But her touch… well, that was… exhilarating.

What almost surprised me more than the actual contact was the fact that Sara had initiated it. Usually, any contact we had was shoulder-to-shoulder from close proximity, a casual hand here or there for guidance, or a reassuring squeeze of the shoulder. Always initiated by me. This was different.

This was Sara, reaching out to me, literally, to extend… what, exactly? Friendship Support? Sympathy? I didn't know exactly what she meant by her actions, but the mere idea of Sara reaching out to me with any motive at all was calming. By her touch, I knew she believed in me, knew that I would rise above the frustration and ultimately prevail. She was there for me. She'd help me. In the end, Sara re-instilled my confidence in myself.

And just by resting a few fingers on my face.

Sara confused me, frightened me and challenged me. But whatever would transpire between us, I knew one thing was for certain.

Deep down, regardless, I would always care for her.

No matter what.


	4. Surreptitiousness in Las Vegas

**A/N: **I know, I know. But we addressed Hank, so this had to be done.

Spoilers for episode 2x8, Slaves of Las Vegas.

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><p>I've met a lot of intriguing people during my time in working law enforcement. Intelligent people, people with interesting stories and people who can leave one heck of an impression. But none of them can compare with Lady Heather.<p>

I would be lying if I said she didn't captivate me from the moment she opened the door for Jim, Catherine and I. I could see that she had a story. I could tell just by talking with her that she was intelligent. And she left one heck of an impression.

I didn't understand, or even fully agree with, what she did for a living, but she refused to let herself be labeled solely as such. She was many layers, a professional in deviance and an interpreter of human behavior. She was a lot more than black leather and whips and chains. It's definitely safe to say she intrigued me.

But she also alarmed me.

Within moments of us speaking, she could sense that I had few outlets to sidetrack me from the world of death and incivility that so often consumed my life. Though I offered a few vague, frankly pathetic excuses, she was right. It stunned me that this woman, the one I had met only several minutes ago, could read so much into me.

And it didn't stop there.

She pinpointed my greatest concern, the source of my largest anxiety. No one I'd ever met before had been able to see through my pretenses so quickly and with so much confidence.

_Being known._

It's part of why I made death my profession. It's why I kept everyone in my life at arm's length, even those I cared about, or could care about deeply, if I allowed it. It's why I preferred to stay aloof, and forge no strong connections with others, lest someone gets hurt. It was the reason for my quiet, solitary lifestyle, the mantra I told myself over and over whenever I began to question my choices in life.

Being known.

And by finding this fear, highlighting it, Lady Heather was telling me she was, in a way, disregarding it. _She _could know me. She did already. She saw deeper than anyone else had, or possibly ever could.

I stayed for tea longer than was necessary, and we continued to discuss the depths of human deviancy, the motivations behind it and the consequences resulting from it. Conversation with Lady Heather was challenging, thought provoking and rewarding. I found myself, against all odds, enjoying myself.

She had proved she had the power to wholly rattle me. Unsettle me. But rather than seeing it as a threat, I saw it as a challenge. Uninhibited. Intelligent. Bold.

This was a woman who fascinated me.

And for reasons completely unrelated to our professional contact, I let myself hope that it was not the last I'd see of Lady Heather.


	5. Heart Breaker

**A/N: **'Bout time we heard from Greg, right?

Spoilers for 2x11, Organ Grinder.

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><p>When Sara first joined the Graveyard team, all I could think was, <em>finally! <em>Someone close to my age, and a _female_, nonetheless! The lab already had way too much testosterone.

The more we worked together, the more I liked her. She's smart, snarky and can sometimes be sharp-tongued and sarcastic, but I loved that about her. She wasn't the blonde, large-in-the-chest-area-type I usually went for, but I somehow started to feel stirrings of something more than just a platonic like. She was so gosh darn cute.

I just wished she would notice me.

I followed Catherine's advice and didn't tell her my lunch invitation was actually a date in disguise, but I wanted to stand there and scream, 'GO OUT WITH ME!' until she did. If I could snag Sara, I'd be the talk of the lab.

Unfortunately, work got in the way, and our pseudo date was postponed. I was disappointed, but then, to my relief and surprise, my phone rang as I was clocking out at the end of shift.

"Hello?"

"Greg?"

"Sara."

"How do you feel about turning our lunch break into a dinner?"

My heart leapt.

"Right now?"

"I'm free."

Her voice sounded a little flat, like she was upset about something, and I wondered if things didn't go the way she planned on the secretary-turned-wife and wife-turned-secretary case. She gave me an address and told me to meet her there in ten.

I nearly skipped to my car and bent the rearview mirror to adjust my hair. Achieving the perfect balance of neat and scruffy is an art form I had perfected. Satisfied, I drove to the diner Sara suggested and saw her car already parked there.

"Hey," I said, giving her a huge smile.

"Hey," she said, trying to return it as best she could.

"So… how was the hot case?"

"Frustrating beyond belief," she sighed.

"Wanna talk about it?" I prompted.

"No," she said flatly.

We took a booth in the corner of the diner and ordered burgers and shakes. A gal who wasn't afraid of cholesterol. Just my type.

"Do you ever feel like sometimes everything we do is just futile in the end?" she asked.

I lifted and lowered a shoulder.

"Sometimes," I replied. "But… most of the time, with the right mix of evidence and proof, it isn't completely in vain."

"It's just…" Sara twirled the straw of her shake distractedly. "Those few cases we can't nail just _bug _me."

"I know," I agreed, nodding. "Me too. But… you can't let them get you down. You're a great CSI, and you work really hard. Don't forget that."

She flashed me the most genuine smile I'd seen all night.

"You're sweet, Greg."

I felt my face immediately flush.

"I'm sorry you didn't get them," I said. "I wish I could have helped more."

"You did," she reassured. "By your internet search, and for coming here with me tonight. I really needed something to take my mind off things. You're a good friend."

She smiled again and took a gigantic bite of burger, but inside, my heart was sinking. On cloud nine just a moment ago, the word _friend_ brought things crashing back to reality. I was nothing of interest to Sara, not romantically, at least. I was someone to vent to, to talk to, and to hang out with as a friend.

I should have known I wouldn't be so lucky.

But in that moment, watching Sara steal a fry from my plate, I decided that if friends was I could get, friends it would be. Because Sara was too funny and caring and nice to not have in my life at all. She'd make someone very happy…

…it just wasn't me.


	6. You've Got Diversion

**A/N: **Pleeeeease don't kill me. I hate him too. And while I wish it were someone else she'd called at the end of the episode, I have to be logical...

I hope you guys aren't getting tired of me yet. I'm sorry for the total invasion of your inboxes. It amazes me that you keep coming back and reading, and even better, reviewing. I would have never expected such a faithful group, and it makes doing these so worth it.

Spoilers for 2x12, You've Got Male.

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><p>I couldn't stop thinking about what Nick said.<p>

Was I really that pathetic? Nick and I teased each other but… somehow this time didn't seem like his usual, flippant, lighthearted manner. He meant it. In a concerned way, of course, but he was still thinking it.

I needed to get out more.

What he said reminded me of something Grissom told me, a few months ago.

_Do you have any diversions? You max out on overtime every month, you go home and listen to your police scanner, you read forensic textbooks… You need something outside of law enforcement… otherwise, you'll burn out._

I'd brushed it off at the time. I was too wrapped up in the case to give his words any serious consideration. But now, after hearing it from the person I'd least expected it from – _Nick_ calling my bluff – I had some serious consideration to do.

What in the world could I do with my time? I'd made hardly any friends outside the department in all my time in Vegas. At least, no one I'd be comfortable enough to call up and hang out with. I was too irritated with Nick for being right to talk to him. Greg was sweet, but I had feeling he still harbored a crush on me, and the last thing I'd want to do is lead him on.

And then it hit me.

Hank.

Our second date had gone well and we'd had fun. We went to the shooting range, and though Hank was a non-carrying, totally un-gun-related type of guy, he turned out to have quite the aim. And of course, I didn't mind that he was impressed with my shooting skills as well.

But work had kept us both so busy that we hadn't seen each other since then. I briefly wondered if it was weird for me to be the one to call him, but desperate situations called for desperate measures, and I made the call.

"Hey, it's Sara," I said. "I was thinkin'… do you wanna go out? Somewhere?"

"I was just thinking about you," he replied. "And I'd love to. I have the perfect place."

He picked me up an hour later, and we went to midnight bowling at the local alley. It was disco night, and the glittery ball and cheesy 70s music were out in full swing. Being a week night, the teenagers that usually occupied the place were absent, and the alleys were full of young people our age, having fun and bowling strikes.

Well, most of them were bowling strikes. Including Hank. Me? I was just lucky to break 50 in our first round. So much for trying to impress.

"Oh come on," I moaned as I threw my third gutter ball in a row. "The floor's gotta be slanted or something."

"It's working just fine for me," Hank grinned as he handed me my beer and proceeded to throw a spare.

"Yeah, well, then my ball is jinxed," I joked, glaring at him.

"Here, let me show you."

He walked up to the lane and stood behind me, adjusting my posture and then cupping the hand that held my glittery green ball with his.

"It's about the follow-through," he said into my ear. I tensed at our closeness. "You have to direct the ball where you want to go, all the way to the moment it leaves your hand."

Together, we threw the ball down the lane, and although it didn't knock down all of the florescent pins, it did get a record eight.

"See?" Hank laughed as I turned towards him with wide eyes.

Before I could think, I lunged forward and hugged him, and we both froze in the embrace, realizing that this was the closest we'd ever gotten. I started to break away, but he held on a second longer, talking into my ear.

"This is fun, Sara," he said. "I have fun with you."

With his help, I knocked down the final two pins and earned myself my very first spare. While Hank took his turn, I sat back in the booth by the electronic scoreboard and took a swig of my beer.

Maybe I could do this. Maybe having a distraction wouldn't be the worst thing in the world. Hank thought I was fun, and frankly, I wasn't having a bad time either.

Maybe this wouldn't turn out to be so bad after all.


	7. Burden of Affection

**A/N: **This was begging to be done. What happened between the argument in Burden of Proof and Grisosm's "since I met you" in Primum Non Nocere? Something more than a plant, that's for sure. (Look out for a PNN post-ep later today or tomorrow, by the way)

Spoilers for 2x15, Burden of Proof.

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><p>I was worried I'd made a fatal mistake.<p>

I hadn't done anything intentionally, but Sara's words and her threat to leave or even quit made me take another look at the situation, at the words that had been exchanged between us. I had been insensitive. I had hurt her. Perhaps enough that things between us were damaged irreparably. I'd put the fatal wound in a relationship that was already hesitant at best.

I had just been learning how to be around her. Only just starting to figure out what having her in my life meant to me. I wiped out all that hope and cautiousness away in an instant.

I needed to make things right. I just… didn't know how. I admit, at the first whisperings of Sara's relationship with an EMT, I felt an inexcusable jealousy. Even though she never mentioned him to me, I had a hard time being around her, while knowing inside that I could be losing her with every passing day. And now, that insecurity had turned against me, and hurt her in the process.

What could I do?

I hoped that the plant I sent would perhaps be the first baby step toward partial forgiveness. But I knew that wouldn't be enough. I had to make the next few steps myself, and apologies were certainly not one of my strong points.

But this wasn't the Sherriff or the lab director, this was Sara. Someone I cared about, even if she was taking the steps to put distance between us. So the afternoon after Catherine and I had breakfast together at my townhouse, I sucked it up and drove myself to Sara's apartment. I didn't call to forewarn her of my appearance. I probably should have. I hadn't been to Sara's place in weeks… since I'd overheard Nick teasing Sara about _him_, actually. It was too strange.

But I was there, knocking on her door. She answered, sleepy-eyed and pajama-clad, and I realized that this was usually the time I was sleeping, too. My mind must have been too otherwise occupied to even consider sleep.

"Sara," I said. "Hi. I, uh… I'm sorry I didn't call."

"It's okay," she replied. Her voice wasn't hostile, but she also didn't open the door to invite me inside. On her porch, I shifted my weight from one foot to the other. "Why are you here?"

"I came to talk to you," I said. "Could I… would you let me in?"

She opened the door wider and I stepped inside, noting that the plant I'd sent her was on her kitchen counter, the card still stuck in its leaves, but apparently opened. I couldn't decide if that was a good thing or not. She saw me looking at it.

"I got your gift. Thanks."

"You're welcome, Sara," I said softly.

She fidgeted, obviously uncomfortable.

"You came here to talk," she said. "So… talk."

"Why are you doing this?" I asked.

"Doing what?"

"Looking for a leave of absence," I clarified. "Threatening to quit. This isn't like you, Sara."

"You know why," she said quietly.

I heard Catherine's words ringing in my head.

_You have to deal with it. You're the supervisor…_

"No," I emphasized. "I don't think I do. Will you… explain it to me?"

"When I first got here…" Sara started, tailing off. She looked as if she didn't want to go down that route. She took a deep breath and tried again. "Lately, I just feel… slighted. Like you're keeping me at arm's length. That you don't consider me a respectable member of your team any more, like it's not necessary to include me in important decisions."

I stared at her. Was that what my trying to maintain composure around her came off as? Distance? Coolness? Well, I never wanted that, even if I did feel awkward at the idea of a new man in her life.

"I didn't mean to," I said.

"I know," she replied. "But… that almost makes it worse."

I remembered how Sara was when she first arrived in Vegas, always trying to impress, working hard on each and every case to earn my approval. When was the last time I'd told her she'd done a good job? Complimented her on her work or told her how much I valued her skills? I grappled my memory for a few moments before deciding it had been too long.

"What do you want me to say, Sara?" I asked.

"You came to me," she pointed out. "What did you need to say?"

I took a deep breath, knowing these next words were important.

"I didn't come here to beg you to stay," I said. "But I did come here to apologize. I never wanted to make you feel insignificant, unintentionally or not. I'm sorry."

She only nodded at me, but her eyes were softer. I continued.

"And if you want to leave, that's your decision and your decision only," I said, trying to keep the pain out of my voice. "But if you stay, it's not just the lab that needs you. I value your hard work, your diligence and your guts. Nothing has changed since you first came here, Sara. I like having you here."

I rose, not wanting to overstay my welcome. She looked surprised, but thankfully, comforted. At the very least, she was no longer throwing daggers at me through her eyes.

"I hope I see you tonight," I said, and walked towards her door.

"Grissom," she called out when my hand met the doorknob. "I'll stay."

I turned towards her.

"I'll try harder," I assured her.

A moment passed between us as we looked at one another.

"Thank you," she said softly, and I knew she was thanking me for more than just my promise. My apology went a long way.

I smiled at her softly and left the apartment. The door pressed closed behind me, I let out a deep sigh of relief. Things were not perfect. Far from it, in fact. But she was staying, and I was filled with the satisfaction that I had finally done something right. And I'd keep my promise to Sara, for myself as much as for her.

I would try harder.


	8. Nullam Placerat

**A/N: **Maybe it's just me, but I think that things between Grissom and Sara got better, briefly, before they got much, much worse. This is where we are now, before the major angst kicks in.

Spoilers for episode 2x16, Primum Non Nocere.

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><p>Four words from this man could send me spinning in circles.<p>

My question had been simple and teasing enough.

_Since when have you been interested in beauty? _

His answer stopped me in my tracks as fast as if a truck had plowed right into the side of my face.

_Since I met you. _

He talked on, like it was nothing, and I recovered quickly enough, but all through our processing of the ice rink, my mind was spinning. Why did I have to overanalyze everything he said to me? Grissom always says what he thinks. It was simple enough. He thinks I'm beautiful.

_He thinks I'm beautiful. _

Two weeks ago, I had convinced myself I was as happy as a clam without him, having my own life outside of work and making it a point to enjoy myself as if I were personally proving him wrong. Now, after those four words, I wasn't so sure. I could feel cracks in the shield I kept around myself starting to form, and I realized how very much I still cared about his opinion. I wanted him to like me. I wanted him to trust me. Heck, I _wanted_ him to think I'm beautiful. Now he'd gone and said it, and I was back to square one, hanging on his every word with my imagination running on overdrive.

We continued with the case, made an impressive amount of hockey and sports-related puns and I found myself actually enjoying work again. Thank God I hadn't left when I'd wanted to… would I have wanted to live without hearing those four words? Definitely not.

When I got home that night, I found myself still lingering on our conversation from the bleachers. My thoughts trailed to the day Grissom had referenced – the day we met – in San Francisco. I remembered just how he looked. Electric blue eyes, light brown hair with just a hint of gray at the temples, a crisp blue shirt and pressed black pants.

I don't know what possessed me to do it, but when I got ready for shift the next day, I readied myself to be an exact replica of what I looked like on that day, when we met. Curly hair (I hadn't done that in a while), ponytail, a dark red shirt and brown pants. I didn't know what I was doing – I really _did _like Hank. I guess I just wanted to see if I could still get Grissom's attention. I didn't know exactly what I was expecting. I guess his words just conjured up fond memories, and I wanted to see if he remembered them too.

When I walked into the lab that night, my efforts definitely did not go unnoticed. Grissom literally stopped short, and I could swear he gave me a double take.

"Hi."

His head snapped up and his cheeks flushed crimson. He must have realized he was staring.

"Hi," he stammered. "You, uh… you look nice tonight."

"Thanks."

He turned to walk into the break room.

"Hey, Grissom?" I called.

He turned.

"Yeah?"

"I'm glad I stayed."

The crimson in his cheeks didn't disappear, but a small smile graced his lips.

"Me too."

I guess the curly ponytail did the trick.


	9. Companion

**A/N: **So I'm planning on at least one, maybe two, more chapters for this season two series. But just in case, the third season's story will be called "Crash and Burn", so look out for that tomorrow or Wednesday.

Spoilers for episode 2x19, Stalker.

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><p>The knock on the door, soft and unthreatening as it was, made me jump.<p>

It had been one _hell _of a shift. After wrapping the case at PD, all I had wanted was to go home and get a good night's sleep. But my apartment was still an active crime scene, and I didn't want to go back there anyway. So Warrick gave me his keys, and I went to his place while the rest of the team finished up at the lab.

I couldn't sleep. The best I could do was toss and turn, wishing I wasn't alone in my apartment. So I couldn't help but smile when I opened the front door to see Warrick, Sara, and surprisingly, Greg, armed with Chinese take-out, my favorite beer and a movie. They each held up their offering.

"Do we pass?" Sara asked.

"With flying colors," I replied.

I opened the door wider to let her in and she paused to give me a gentle hug. Greg followed her inside, looking a little sheepish, but murmuring that it was good to see me. Warrick stepped in last.

"Greg?" I questioned.

"He was really worried about what happened to you," Warrick explained. "And he overheard Sara and I making plans. She invited him."

"It's all good," I said. "Thanks. For coming."

"No problem."

I turned to face the living room to see Sara and Greg already making their selves at home, opening the cardboard boxes of sweet and sour chicken and Mongolian beef. Warrick sat beside Sara on the couch, and I immediately felt at ease. Their presence was calming. After the unexpectedness and insanity and fear that the last day had brought, I needed familiarity. And even though I only hung out with Sara a handful of times outside of work, and never with Greg, it felt familiar. Having my friends around me.

I took the recliner and Sara handed me a plate full of chicken and rice.

"How are you doing, Nick?" she asked.

I took a deep breath and a couple of bites of an egg roll before I responded.

"Okay, I guess," I replied, shrugging. "It seems like one long, bad dream."

"I'm really glad you're okay, man," Greg piped up.

I couldn't help but grin at him.

"Thanks, Greggo," I replied. "And thanks for… all of this."

The three nodded in response, and we ate our Chinese without again mentioning Nigel Crane or what he had done to Jane and I. It was strange, how we all dealt with trauma. We saw it everyday, but on the rare occasion that it happened to one of us, all we wanted was for things to return to normal as fast as possible. I didn't want to dwell on recent events any more than any of them wanted to. So I was perfectly happy to eat and appreciate my friends' company, without which, my thoughts would inevitably turn darker, and linger on things I'd rather not contemplate.

We polished off the Chinese, and as Warrick put the DVD into the entertainment center, Sara and Greg bickered on the couch.

"Greg, if I have to shove you over one more time, I _will _punch you."

"I haven't moved!"

"There are three cushions. Three of us. Stay on your cushion."

"I _am _on my cushion."

He let his knee fall over into Sara's space.

"Greg!"

She hauled off and whacked him on his shoulder, and as I reached for the remote to turn up the volume, my eyes lifted to meet Warrick's gaze. His grin was half smirk and half genuine smile, but it expressed everything that had gone unsaid between us. He was glad I was okay. I was glad he was here. I needed this. And I was glad to have friends who would look out for me.

Despite everything, I felt like one lucky guy.


	10. The Hurtful Awareness

**A/N: **And here we are at the end of season two! Spike decided to skip this episode, for some reason, but I still wanted to address it. For me, this is when some underlying tides start changing.

I apologize in advance for an onslaught of new postings. I looked at the first episodes of season three, and there is a lot to write about. I hope you are still interested in these little stories, because I sure enjoy writing them! See you in season three :)

Spoilers for episode 2x23, The Hunger Artist.

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><p>I could feel things going wrong. And in more ways than one.<p>

I'd had irregular, mostly infrequent, lapses in hearing over time, but throughout the entire Ashleigh James case, the crispness of sound in my ears kept muting to a dull silence. I probably should have been more alarmed than I was. For some reason, I took it with quiet acceptance, something I knew would happen eventually. My visit to the doctor confirmed my suspicions. In all likeliness, I would lose my hearing indefinitely.

But I wasn't scared. I was nervous – losing my hearing most likely meant losing my job. And who was I without my work? Even I didn't know.

No, the diagnosis of my hearing didn't scare me. More than anything, it made me feel alienated. Isolated. And somehow, the person it made me feel most distant from was Sara.

For me, biggest causes of anxiety in my relationship with Sara was the difference in our ages. It always intimidated me. Not to say that I had a complex of being with younger women, I had before. But there was something within her, a spark of life, that always made her seem so… alive. Too vibrant and full of life for someone like me. My hearing put a spike in the gap already between us and made it larger and larger. Especially now that it was confirmed. I was old – too told – and I had no business pursuing someone like Sara.

Sara – another thing that I knew was off. She was abnormally subdued in the layout room where she briefed us on Ashleigh James' code. Quiet. Reflective. And… upset. I could tell that Ashleigh's lack of self-confidence and her state of desperation hit a nerve with Sara. She was having trouble wrapping her mind around a person being in such a dark place, that they would punish themselves for just a mere hope that it might make things better.

I wished I could tell her something to make her smile. Let her know that she did a good job on the case. And most of all, that she was beautiful.

But when the team filed out of the room, and the two of us were left alone, staring at each other in silence, I swallowed the words I wished I could say and remained composed instead.

"You did well, Sara."

"Thanks."

She turned to gather up the papers and evidence, her back towards me, and the tension in her shoulders betraying her distress.

I stood to leave her, but allowed myself one last glance, over my shoulder, at her. She was staring down at Ashleigh's day planner, looking so genuinely sad. I decided in that moment that, despite the promise I'd made to her weeks ago, I had to maintain a cool distance from her, for her own sake. There was nothing I could offer her to fend off her sadness. I told myself that it was for the best.

I also told myself that she would never, _ever_, find out about my hearing.

It was for the best.


End file.
